Oh, my precious daughter.

So tiny and yet, she fills up what I now realise was the biggest hole within me. An empty space of quiet longing, echoing with the frightened question, What if it's not to be?

I knew I wanted her but not until Harlow arrived did I understand just how much I needed her. 

So now there is a quiet contentment within me. I look at my three little people and I feel….complete. Bren and I have put the cherry on top of the most perfect life sundae.

Yep, it's just that sweet.

Oh, but she grows. I wonder how much longer I can keep referring to her as 'newborn.' At what point must I give that up?

My sweet daughter grows and grows – stacking on weight on the strength of my milk alone and it is a privilege to hold her to my breast and know that, in this world, in this moment, I am all she needs. It is an extraordinary thing to be a woman and to give life and sustain it in this way. Even by the third child, this notion never grows old for me.

And I am tired. Oh, so tired. But I am so enamoured of my life, of the opportunities, the million things I want to do, that I lay my head to sleep far too late each evening. Somehow, it's enough.

I finally popped a birth announcement in the paper. I can't help but keep these outdated traditions alive. Next, I will send out thank you cards – almost two months after Harlow's arrival.

Things happen slowly around here – but I get to them eventually. Sometimes I need to hush my mind and realise that all these projects of which I am so passionate will happen but the moments spent soothing a crying baby are fleeting. 

The only really hard part of all of this? Dressing for breastfeeding! It's inordinately hard to find cute clothes that allow easy access to one's knockers. The stuff designed specifically for the nursing mother is either ugly or exxy or both. Annoying. 

But I am still babymooning. And watching Bren and the boys with their tiny girl is an exquisitely heart-squeezing joy.